The Wolf and the Raven
by Lady Amalthea Snape
Summary: This is my umteenth attempt to reload this story. 1; I did not mean to upload a bunch of meaningless symbols. I am not especially used to posting things here. 2; I DO NOT APPRECIATE RUDE COMMENTS LEFT IN MY REVIEW BIN! I already had to delete submissions


~The Wolf and The Raven; Part One~  
~ By Lady Amalthea Snape @~}}~  
  
  
  
Snow was now falling lightly outside. Much was already on the ground from the previous evenings' blizzard and more was expected, she could smell it. Until then, however, nature had given them short rest: The silver moon had suddenly appeared through a hole in the shroud of clouds which concealed it. She watched as shimmering beams fell upon snowy Earth, turning it's whiteness into an illuminated, ethereal contrast against the surrounding blackness of night. Standing a part from the rest of the world on her balcony, she sniffed at the air once again. Whisps of quick, deliberate breaths emerged from her wet nose in feathery clouds. The temperature was decreasing. And the moon, so mighty in temporary majesty, hid itself once more in the ebony skies of winter. She cocked her head back and howled mournfully. The initially low pitch became absorbed by the darkness as it changed to a higher note and then, finally, ceased altogether to exist. A shiver ran through her as she deftly turned to re-enter her chambers.   
  
Placidly facing her warm hearth, the she-wolf sat in wait. Light from a crackling pyre of orange and gold distorted the colouring of where it touched her from a deep, reddish mahogany to a fiery, blazing scarlet. Rich browns pigmented the shadowy parts of her body that the light could not reach. Her chestnut, green-flecked eyes watched the incandescent plumage of fire dancing from its place. The moving figments of heat transfixed her.  
  
Suddenly, fluttering sounds from the escarpment invaded her solitary reflection as they resounded throughout the room. She smiled inside of herself as her outer expression remained stoic. Her gaze continuing upon the fire, she listened. Human footfalls made detectable by only the fineness of her ears could now be heard. They approached swiftly and softly, deadly in silence to those creatures with lesser hearing. He was more wolf like than he realised, a quality which was--to her--admirable. The flame held her eyes until his steps were directly behind her, and even then she did not face him. She lingered, in quiet, as his lowly voice entered her senses from a place which seemed beyond the confines of her chambers.   
  
"Cierna...."   
  
And with his single word, a single breath, the beautiful wolf no longer sat before the hearthstone. She had been replaced with a well formed, sorrowful witch whose long hair was as vermilion as the she wolf's was. This woman turned and paused for a moment before speaking, perhaps to regard the lightlessness which concealed the speaker.   
  
"Severus..."   
  
A pensive, surly shape transfigured itself slowly from silhouette into a pallid faced, bony wizard as the fireside gleam entrapped him and brought his features to light. His face was drawn and ovular in nature, with high, protruding cheekbones that accentuated the shadowed areas beneath them. Billowing robes of black seemed to catch the wind even when there was none, and hair formerly of the same shade as his finery fell upon broader shoulders than one would expect of such a frame.  
  
"Lumos."   
  
The ebony and phoenix wand was steady in her hand. Darkness fleeted from the room, as the glow of magically lit candles and torches replaced it. The tall man stood fixed to where he was, flinching from what he considered excessive light. With her expression retaining it's serenity, the witch noticed how much more worn he appeared now that the obscurity of night failed to surround him. Deep creases ran from his formidable nose to the corners of his mouth. They seemed to secure a severe, gravely anguished frown into his countenance--one more pained and malevolent than any other she had seen before. His eyes were sunken in gloom as if life had escaped them; they were cold, crisp, and unfeeling, like those of the dead contained in a living body. The skin which always seemed pale was now waxen in appearance, and the strands of fine hair which fell occasionally into his face were considerably more silver than the firelight had exposed. Somberly, she remembered a time not so long ago when his hair was still inky, his face less creviced. Her thoughts transported her into the depths of those memories...when they had worked side-by-side as student and teacher...wolf and raven...  
  
"I could not save him."  
  
His voice was dry and his words were short, to the point. They shattered the silence. He moved closer to the fire grate and bowed his head. The moderately long, straight hair fell frontward, cloaking the gaunt, gnarled expression of his face.  
  
"I despised him all his life. Because of his death; I abhor him even more..."  
  
With advancing steps, she listened. The events spoken of were never mentioned, ever, yet they were always plaguing him, always eating him alive from the inside out. Mordancy and hate had devoured his existence, his very soul...just as it had ravaged them and their chances of a life together. She ceased her movement towards him and closed her eyes. Too many thoughts...of what could have been. Why did he hold fast to his bitter, unrelenting rage? Why did he refuse to let it go? The familiar, grievous anguish she had poorly attempted to entomb inside herself surfaced with unmerciful force. She raised her eye lids and breathed deeply, resolving to preserve her outward equanimity no matter what she felt within. They both had been inane, it was too late to change the past. But becoming freed from it...was an entirely different matter...  
  
"The young fool saved me, just as his father did. He died before I could get out of his debt..."  
  
This statement surprised the witch. Her jaw dropped as she lost some of her collectedness. Such an admittance was most unlike the wizard she knew. Deciding to listen rather than to interrupt, she took a chair behind him and allowed his thoughts to be voiced as they came. The venom had finally become too great for him to harbour. It was overflowing; spilling from his soul as liquid does over the edge of a brimming glass. Abruptly, he spun around towards her. A new expression clouded his face, one which she had never seen him wear before. He was desperate looking, frightened. A strangled, rattling sound was audible from his throat as he fought for air. She could tell something was gravely wrong, but she did not question. Damp lines which suspiciously resembled tear trails ran alongside his nose.   
  
"I am dying."  
  
Dying. Her mind could not accept this statement...dying? She searched those eyes--his eyes--for anything which would validate the untruth of his declaration. A wild, bestial mien had displaced the lifelessness. It was an expression which a hunter might liken to an animal's contained hysteria, once it is cornered and realises eternal demise is imminent. She had learned how to examine a person's soul with a single glimpse in her animagus form. With equal force, he returned her scrutiny. In a second's passing, her keen eyes could see the fading of his essence.  
  
"You probe my soul, wolf, as I probe yours. You come to grips with reality, and I...I see the dawning of that truth..."  
  
He plunged his hand into his cloak, for what he did not reveal. Even through all of the material, she could detect an abnormal clumsiness which plagued his once precise fingers. He remained grimly fixed upon her as he dug deeper and deeper, only to give up with a feeble, derisive snort of exasperation. She quit her seat and piteously moved closer to him, extending her fragile fingertips outward. Her state of disbelief ebbing, heart ache greater than any she had ever known manifested itself in her. The wizard instinctively began to move away, but she was too fast for him: she grasped his arm and held it tightly, refusing to let go. What little energy he had was too precious to waste fighting an act of compassion; he allowed her to pull him into a strong embrace.   
  
She had loved him since she met him, and she knew he loved her. Regardless of this fact, holding him there was awkward : Rarely had they touched prior to this, and most of those times had been 'accidental.' She had not seen him for ten long years, not since the night Harry Potter and Voldemort died. This frail wizard before her had been her mentor, and his was a difficult and stormy past. He had identified with Voldemort in his youth, then renounced the Dark Lord after experiencing the horrific life of a Death Eater. He knew of the plans Voldemort was making and perhaps--with enough of the right information going to the correct place--the Dark Lord could be stopped. Thus, he turned to the Ministry of Magic. Bartimus Crouch readily took what knowledge he possessed on the Dark Circle, promising freedom and protection in return for testimony. Crouch blatantly lied. The attestation landed him a life sentence in Azkaban.   
  
Two years later, Voldemort and his followers erupted from secrecy and set their blueprint for terror into motion. With the Dark Side having appeared inactive for ages; the presiding Minister of Magic assumed they no longer were a threat. The Ministry was frantic. They were in no way prepared for the extensiveness of what was occurring. Aurors were immediately gathered, apprentices were trained, security was increased; but nothing could slow Voldemort's progress. When the Aurors did manage to track down Death Eaters they were at a great loss: It was nearly impossible to discern which witches and wizards were followers of their own free will, and which were acting under the controlling effects of the Imperius curse. The Ministry was appearing as a great joke. Within a short time the Dark Lord reigned supreme, slaughtering both the magic folk who opposed him and anything short of pure-blood on an hourly basis.  
  
Meanwhile, there existed one wizard whom Voldemort did not overpower with torture and intimidation: Albus Dumbledore; the Headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As the Ministry of Magic weakened increasingly with disagreements over the best tactics to use against the Dark Lord, Dumbledore gathered together his own band of devoted supporters and sought a different path. The two powers of good tolerated one another; one from formality and the other from wisdom. Where the Minister of Magic was weak and swayed by politics, Dumbledore was steadfast and amicable: He knew that more quarreling amongst supposed allies would give Voldemort yet more power over the wizarding world.  
  
And so the Ministry--even if they disagreed with his actions--allowed Dumbledore to act as he saw fit. At once, the Headmaster wasted no time fortifying Hogwarts as his stronghold. Housed within were an ensemble of many esteemed magicians; mixed blood and pure, Auror and spy. His extended hand of friendship failed to the Giants as they had already sided with Voldemort, but the renowned honor of Dumbledore's name and skill succeeded where the bumbling reputation of the Ministry had not: In securing non-human, magic using domains to bond against the Dark Lord and his circle. Dwarven, elven, and faerie kingdoms readily pledged their allegiance to Dumbledore the moment it was requested.   
  
In giving people second chances, the Headmaster fought by other ways Ministry failed to comprehend. Albus Dumbledore knew of a Death Eater renouncing Voldemort two years before his violent outbreak. He also knew that Crouch was brutal in his punishments concerning anyone suspected of being associated with Voldemort for bureaucratic reasons: The title of Minister of Magic was well within his grasp. To Crouch, a fervent campaign against the Dark Side was just the tool he needed to accomplish the position he sought. Dumbledore was aware that this man Crouch sentenced to life had been a Death Eater, but he also remembered that he had left the Dark Circle before Voldemort's power underwent crescendo. In a time where the only people to revoke Voldemort were those hoping for leniency from a life-term in Azkaban, this said something of the man. Everything--his safety, his freedom--and for all he knew, his life--became negotiable subjects when he confessed his knowledge of the Dark Lord's plans and thereby, admitted his affiliation with him.   
  
Dumbledore believed that one convert experienced in following Voldemort would prove to be more beneficial to their cause than harmful to it. Therefore; he approached the Ministry with an appeal for release on the grounds that the wizard in question had seen the error of his ways, and would serve for the promotion of good rather than evil. Crouch and those members of the Ministry who supported him opposed the request, but so great was his reverence for Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic overruled it. The freedom of Severus Septimius Snape was granted.   
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